Somewhere In Iowa
by plaidshirtjimkirk
Summary: Jim made a promise and he intends to keep it.


A/N: For the anon who requested I write a one-shot military AU short story.

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"Flash bang."

He spoke calmly as the creaky wooden door was opened just enough to toss a canister in and close it before it exploded into a blinding haze of light.

The door was flung back open, the muzzle of an AK47 breaching the space of the dilapidated room first before Corporal Scott quickly slipped inside. His head was cocked and looking down iron sights as he quickly surveyed the area, sweeping from wall to wall.

Behind him, he could hear the squad filing in and surrounding him, old floorboards squeaking beneath their boots despite their cautious steps. The first survey turned up quiet, though it didn't include the dark doorways waiting further out into the room—one directly ahead on the far end and two others to the left. With the sun high in the sky, mid-afternoon light poured in through the broken windows lining the right wall, casting visibility on the excess of dust and dirt drifting through the air.

As if the pounding of destruction wasn't enough, the sun itself beat down on the war-plagued city, raining upon the buildings that were once vibrant with local aesthetic and culture; some would consider it a miracle that any even remained standing at this point but others knew better—knew more of conflict and violence and just how resilient some things were to breaking. The rays were intense, laying full assault on the concrete structures and baking them along with the broken pieces of jagged asphalt which once served as busy streets where children played and merchants sold their wares.

The sergeant's hazel eyes made contact with Private Hendorff and then he silently raised his hand, two fingers straightened to the ceiling and cutting through the air to point them in the direction of the first room to the left. He quickly mirrored the same gesture to the second doorway at Private Sulu.

Two teams of three men each began quickly making their ways down the wall. When they arrived at their assigned place, they quietly slipped inside and vanished.

Leaving two men posted for cover by both sides of the entrance they just came through, Sergeant Kirk began a careful venture forward, his left hand locked around the foregrip of his weapon and right pointer finger pressed against the trigger.

His com quietly echoed the sound of Hendorff's voice. "Clear. Regrouping in the forward room."

Sulu immediately confirmed the same.

"Affirmative," Jim replied. "Sulu, rally on Hendorff."

It was a housing complex they had breached, but this room was significantly different than the others which had been used for domicile purposes. As the orders dictated they would, they found the space was larger and full of rusted old desks—clearly, it was recently being used as some form of tiny operations center and, from the looks of it, whomever had been there had left in a hurry.

Jim and Scotty cautiously walked forward in parallel, three feet apart and made quick work of checking desks and crevices for any hiding militants. Upon arriving at the far end, Jim leaned into his com and uttered, "Clear. Move up." The two standing cover at the entrance began a quick but cautious forward movement to join them.

"I don't get it, Sir," Scotty said finally, giving a quick look around once more. "Could it be the intel was off yet again?"

It felt like millennia ago, when Jim's face would crease from the infectious smile that spread across his lips. But now, his once supple flesh had become rough to the touch and lined with marks from wearing one too many grave expressions. His eyebrows furrowed for a moment as if he were thinking something through before supplying an answer.

"It doesn't add up," Jim agreed then. "Three missions in a row. All quiet where there should be fireworks."

Clutching his gun, Scotty's dark brown eyes raised and he studied holes in the ceiling from tiles that had fallen and shattered on the floor. "Aye…"

Only a trained eye could catch the flicker of metal shining from the building across the street, and it drew Jim's attention just before the sound of gunfire exploded into the air.

"Contact!" someone shouted.

By the time the first bullets reached their side, Jim had already tossed himself in Scotty's direction, his body slamming directly into his friend's.

"Tangos! Twelve o'clock!"

Shots sprayed in bursts on both sides, shattering pieces of glass still clinging to the windowpanes and putting holes through weakened planks of wood meant to patch gaps in the concrete wall.

Scotty could hear the sounds of battle erupting around him as time seemed to slow infinitely when he was knocked off balance and felt himself falling. Those two seconds of utter helplessness were all fate needed to guide a bullet straight through his neck or chest and his eyes widened before snapping shut as the splintered wooden panels neared.

He crashed into the floor, flinching from the impact and weight of Jim's body hitting his. Quickly rolling to the side, Scotty laid prone and snapped his face to the side, his expression twisting in horror.

"Jimmy! Jim!" When no response came, he threw his mouth into his com and exclaimed, "MEDIC! We have a man down! Repeat, Sergeant Kirk is down!"

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_Lonely… I'm mister lonely…  
I have nobody… for my own…_

Somewhere in the late Iowan night, surrounded by fields of wheat and an expanse of stars lighting the sky… In some place where the breeze whispered through the tall grass, where fireflies drifted through the air like burning embers… Where there was an old, beat up corvette with the top down and the radio softly playing a song all too sad and all too real… Where lying on the ground was leisure and not defense… Where it was safe to close his eyes, where it was okay to fall asleep, to move without making a decision, to feel something other than restlessness, to not shake or have nightmares or tense up… to remember he was actually human.

Somewhere, out there in the night, the soft song floated through the warm summer air with dreamy fluidity, accented by the plucking of piano keys. It carried across the jagged verdant blades that bowed lazily in the wake of the wind, encompassing them and keeping them safe.

_I'm so lonely… I'm mister lonely…_  
_Wish I had someone… to call on the phone_

A warm lap held Jim's head as his hazel eyes stared at the exquisite display of stars shimmering in the sky while thoughts raced through his mind and sloshed together; the silence and peacefulness of his exterior gave no hint at the inner cacophony that plagued him.

It was his burden, and he would suffer it alone—he would do anything to prevent it from seeping out and making it a weight to be shared with any other, and especially not…

Jim's eyes closed. There were some places in this world rife with innocence and beauty that hadn't been corrupted, and he would protect them as if they were as precious as life itself.

A slender hand with long digits lifted and brushed through locks of golden hair that had fallen across a smooth, tan forehead. At that, Jim's thoughts focused and his eyelashes parted, revealing the pair of brilliant honeyed eyes again.

The corners of his lips twitched at the sight of Spock's face—upside down from this position—and they gazed at each other. Yes, he reaffirmed to himself. The silence was worth it.

_Away from home… through no wish of my own_  
_That's why I'm lonely_

Spock's expression was controlled and neutral, but books were spoken in the way he adoringly regarded Jim. The tips of his nimble fingers slipped through his hair once more and smoothed it back before settling them over one warm cheek. He cupped it, reveling in how it felt against his cool flesh.

Jim raised his hand and placed it over Spock's. His digits curled gently, hooking on to it and he leaned his face into that touch he loved more than anything. It was the same that he would miss and long for much too soon.

Looking back into the dark eyes upon him, Jim's tiny smile never faded.

"Spock," he whispered softly into the darkness then, just audible enough over the chorus of insects and low music. The glow of one firefly floated between them before it faded and disappeared into the night, just as Jim would. However, in the same manner as it reappeared soon in a different place to light up with life once more, so would he.

Jim's calloused fingers caressed the smooth skin of Spock's hand before tightening on it again. His words remained soft, but what he said was profound enough to reach the depths of Spock's soul and reverberate there over and over.

"Spock," he repeated. "I'm coming back to you."

Spock's head fell slightly along with his shoulders before he nodded twice and swallowed. Matching Jim's tone, his voice remained steady, but his eyes softened. "I will be waiting."

The small smile across Jim's lips never faded at that response and their eyes remained locked, studying the other's face, memorizing every detail, and drowning in every feeling they were willing to share.

Jim would spare Spock the anguish he felt over the impending separation, the growing trepidation as the morning neared when he would leave, the uncertainty if he could really keep his promise, and the anticipation of the danger which waited for him.

He wasn't the only one shielding, though; in fact, there was much that Spock, himself, refused to make known.

But, somehow, just by looking at each other, everything that both tried so hard to conceal became known—the emotions and concerns and worries and heartbreak pent up behind their eyes became utterly naked in their shared gaze.

After several seconds, when he felt his chest get heavy and vision blur slightly, Jim's eyelashes fell once more and he let his face fall to the side, pressing Spock's hand between his cheek and palm.

_I'm mister lonely_  
_I wish that I could go back home_

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**_I'm coming back to you._**  
**_I will be waiting._**

Jim's eyes snapped open to the filthy wooden floor and the sound of magazines emptying in a near-deafening echo against the concrete. Remaining low, he immediately looked up, catching Scotty's face before he began crawling on his stomach towards the wall.

"Jim!"

Turning his face from side to side, he rapidly observed his men firing through the open spaces of the windows and then ducking. Jim steadily took hold of his gun and got to one knee.

Poking his head up over the ledge, he took aim a militant across the street and fired, killing him before crouching back under the cover of concrete to reload.

"Not today, motherfuckers."

The emotions crossed Scotty's face quickly: first disbelief, then reprieve, and finally a look of determination. He tossed his face back into his com and yelled into it, "Medic, belay that last communication."

Like Jim, he then rose to one knee and began firing out the window.

_I wish that I_  
_could go_  
_back home._

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Thank you for reading!

The song playing in the flashback is Mr Lonely by Bobby Vinton.

This story was a good change of pace from what I typically write, and I enjoyed the challenge because it brought back memories of the endless hours of my life I spent playing COD. That being said, I'm aware this micro plot is extremely romanticized and nothing like the real thing. I'm not a military novelist, so kindly pardon the video game influence and lack of realism.


End file.
